


Zrada (Betrayal)

by Hannah_BWTM



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Betrayal, Malcolm Bright Whump, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24876952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah_BWTM/pseuds/Hannah_BWTM
Summary: Malcolm gets a call from his old FBI supervisor to consult on a case, the first since he was fired last year. Malcolm travels to DC but what is waiting for him isn't what was promised.Fic based on the the Prompt Malcolm betrayed by the FBI requested by the wonderful ProcrastinatingSab.
Comments: 32
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProcrastinatingSab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts).



It’s early summer in New York and the spring chill no longer hangs in the early morning air. The city is getting its groove back as the coffee bars open their windows to let the warmth in. As Malcolm walks down the street with his morning coffee he is hit by the cacophony of sound from the music and machines that accompany the city whirring into life. One song in particular sticks in his head and he can’t help singing it to himself as he goes:

_“Oh don’t you dare look back  
Just keep your eyes on me  
I said you’re holding back  
She said ‘Shut Up and dance with me’.” _

Life feels pretty good for the NYPD’s resident profiler right now. The Endicott business was finally behind them since the ownership records of Corbell Labs had finally been uncovered. His sister had managed to work out a self defence deal for her deadly attack on Nicholas Endicott and she was back to work at ADN with a new national TV slot. Gil had recovered from his stab would and had returned to work and the team had just closed their first case since his return. His mother seemed happier than she should be considering her boyfriend had been manipulating their family for years but he wasn’t about to question why. 

The Girl in the Box was gone from his nightmares and he got four hours sleep last night, only waking up once. Combining the amount of sleep with the French press espresso in his hand he was practically buzzing with excitement. 

The excitement may have had something to do with a phone call from the day before. Debriefing at the precinct after a straightforward arrest of their suspect by JT and Dani the buzzing in his pocket usually signalled an uncomfortable conversation with his mother. Preparing to mute the phone he had only taken a cursory glance at the screen before double checking the number displayed. (202). The area code for Washington D.C, his old FBI stomping grounds. 

“I gotta take this, sorry guys.” Malcolm ducks out of Gil’s office and heads across the tiny hallway to the conference room. This was the first call he’d had from anyone in D.C since he had left last year. Not left, fired. Taking a deep breath Malcolm accepts the call. 

“This is Bright.” He’s hoping his nerves aren’t showing. 

“Malcolm, how are you? It’s Scott Winston here.” The gravelly voice on the other end of the line sounds just like he remembers. Serious and detached. The last time he’d heard that voice was when he’d been called into a small wood panelled meeting room in the Hoover Building to be fired. Why on earth was his old supervisor calling? 

“Scott, Hi. Ah, I’m great, how are you?” Malcolm didn’t know how to keep this conversation going, Scott had never been one for small talk. 

“Well I can’t seem to spend enough time at home according to Brian. It’s why I’m calling, we’ve got a case we need your help to consult on………….. Malcolm?” 

There’s silence as Malcolm stands still in shock with his mouth hanging open. Scott wants his help on a case? The last time they’d been in the same room Scott had sat by and done nothing while the higher ups accused him of being psychotic. Things must be pretty dire if Scott was reaching out. 

“I’m here, Scott. Why exactly do you need my help? I was pretty sure nobody up there wanted to hear from me ever again.” 

“We’ve got this case out in Loudon County, Virginia that has some similar features to the murders in Gainesville that you worked in 2017. We’ve been working this case solid for two months and we’ve got jack. I’ve got two agents with competing profiles and I need a tie breaker.” Winston sounds like he’d rather eat an onion than get between this argument. 

“So you want me to referee a profile match up? I guess I can take a look at what they’ve got so far. Did you want to send through what you’ve got?” Malcolm figures he’s got time to look through the files now he hasn’t got a killer to look for in town. 

Winston clears his throat. “Actually I was thinking you should come back here for a bit. Meet these two agents, visit the crime scene. Do that thing you used to do and pull out a diamond from a pile of coal.” 

“Oh, wow. Okay.” An invitation back to DC wasn’t something he’d imagined would ever happen. “I’ve just wrapped up a case here, I can be there tomorrow afternoon?”

“Great. Call me when you get back into town.” Winston ends the call abruptly in his typical style. 

Malcolm heads back into Gil’s office a little stunned, and the way the conversation stops it’s clear that his face isn’t doing a great job of hiding the fact. 

“What is it, Bright, everything okay?” Dani squints her eyes as if trying to telepathically guess what the problem is. 

“That was my old supervisor at the FBI. They’ve got a case they want me to consult on.” 

“The FBI want your help. The same FBI that fired your ass last year?” JT sounds incredulous.

“Yep. Winston says they’ve got a case with a similar MO to a case I worked on a couple of years back. They can’t agree on a profile so he wants me to come back to DC for a bit.” Saying it out loud still doesn’t make it feel real. 

“So we’re gonna lose you for a few days city boy?” Gil’s teasing but there’s genuine warmth in his smile. He’s happy for Malcolm. 

“I said I can head down tomorrow, I figured since we wrapped this up today if anything comes in you guys can handle it before I get back.” 

“You mean how we used to do things before your skinny ass showed up?” JT throws in on the teasing too and soon everyone is grinning. 

“Oh I’m sure you’ll be fine without me. l‘ll only be gone for a day, two days tops.” Malcolm is hoping it might be a bit longer but he won’t admit that. Not here. 

“Well I guess it’s only fair I give you a gift before you leave.” Gil’s head bobs down as he rummages through his desk drawer before pulling out an ankle monitor. “You can wear this for me in case you get in to trouble.” 

Malcolm feigns surprise “Trouble? Moi? I always wait for backup, you know that. Besides you know how well that worked out the last time you tried to keep one of those on me.”  
Dani grabs his phone while he’s distracted looking at Gil.

“How about we put a tracker on your phone instead. If you’re in trouble just turn it on and we’ll come and get you.” 

“Guys I lived there for eight years, I’m a grown man fully capable of looking after myself.” Malcolm huffed.

“ _Watkins_ ” JT coughs.

“Fine. I’ll install an app if it will keep you happy.” Malcom grabs his phone back and pulls up the App Store to download a tracker. “See? All set. Can I leave now?” 

“Sure thing, city boy.” Gil claps him on the shoulder. “Just don’t forget us when you get there.” 

**************************************************

Staring out the window of the Amtrak express making its way slowly towards DC and thinks back to the case that was enough to make the FBI reach out to him now. He worked that case solo (nobody wanted to work with him and that suited him just fine) and the local PD were one of the more pleasant groups that Malcolm had worked with over the years. The FBI had been called in when they had found a fourth body killed by drowning in as many weeks, all four victims found slumped in their baths with their hands bound and a love heart drawn on their forearms in permanent marker. 

Malcolm had spent a few days in the city getting to know the local scene and he by chance happened to overhear a conversation talking about a car accident that had happened a few months earlier. A woman had become trapped in the car and died. The boyfriend had survived but they were talking about how he “wasn’t the same” since the accident. Acting on a hunch that the method of killing by drowning had something to do with the accident he had asked the local police to do some digging. 

Further investigation uncovered the boyfriend Darren Clayton had visited each victim’s home as a contractor for home renovations so he had knowledge of the homes and the occupants. He was muscular from his work as a carpenter so it was plausible that he was strong enough to hold the victim’s bodies underwater long enough for them to drown. 

PD arrested Darren and he admitted that he had killed his girlfriend opportunistically after the accident and had liked it so much he wanted to keep doing it. There hadn’t been a dramatic confrontation, Malcolm hadn’t run off half-cocked and the result was one of the easiest debrief reports he’d ever written. 

Looking back on the details Malcolm wondered what part of this case had similarities to the case that Winston was dealing with now? Tiring of the view Malcolm pulled his phone out decides to do a Google search to see what he can find out before he meets with Winston. Preparation is never his strong suit when he’s normally working a case but Malcolm wants to show Scott, show the FBI that he’s not the same man who was forced to leave nine months ago. 

He types in various keyword searches for ‘Virginia’ and ‘murder’ but can’t find any hits for recent crimes. A few more minutes of adding ‘Loudon County’ into the mix doesn’t bring up anything either. Odd, but not unheard of. Police sometimes keep the circumstances of a cause of death under wraps for a bunch of reasons. Surmising that Winston will be able to tell him more when he gets there, he closes the search window and pulls out his Wordsearch magazine he’d picked up at the concession stand in Grand Central. 

The topic on page 1: Types of Candy. This one should be easy.

*************************************************** 

The heat isn’t as intense as New York when the train arrives in DC. Nevertheless, Malcolm slips off his jacket so he’s walking in a business shirt and vest, ready for a short walk to his old stomping grounds. Slinging his satchel over his shoulder Malcolm feels like he never left, his gait is more confident and his eyes are looking ahead instead of at the ground. The pall of his father had never reached him when he worked here, and there’s still a part of him that is grateful for that. 

It’s mid-afternoon when the squat square building comes into focus from down the street. The architecture was always polarising with its brown brick and large window façade but Malcolm had never really cared what the building had looked like. His only care was the work that got done inside it. The Behavioural Science Unit was on the fourth floor and Malcolm wasn’t sure if he was going to be excited or sad to see his old office. The day he’d been let go he was only given enough time to collect his bag, he wondered who was sitting at his desk now. 

Forgetting that Winston asked him to call when he arrived Malcolm pulls out his cell and calls the number from yesterday. Winston picks up on the first ring, gruff as ever. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi Winston, it’s Bright. I’m here in DC, about two minutes away. Can I say that I’m meeting you at the reception desk?” 

“You don’t need to worry about signing in Bright, I was about to grab a coffee and we can talk on the way. Can you meet me around the staff entrance?” directs Winston. 

“Sure, I can do that.” Malcolm’s a little disappointed at not being able to head back into the building he’d called home for years this afternoon but figures there will be time tomorrow. He heads towards the back of the building to a non-descript door with no handle and a swipe card box and waits for his old supervisor. It’s only a few minutes before the door swings open and Malcolm can see the salt and pepper hair of his old supervisor exiting the building. Standing at 6 foot 2 inches he’s hard to miss in most circumstances, his thick shock of hair one that was easy to keep track of in a crowd. Winston scans the area before spotting Malcolm, and when he does a brief look of relief flashes across his face before his usual gruff façade slips back into place. 

_Odd_ , thought Malcolm. Winston had never once looked relieved to see Malcolm in the four years he’d had Winston as a supervisor. Things must be pretty bad in the case if Winston’s happy to see him. 

“Walk with me.” There’s the Winston that Malcolm remembers. Short and direct. Winston walks towards the main street and Malcolm skips a little to catch up. 

Now Malcolm’s got a chance to talk to Winston he starts peppering him with questions about the case. “So you said on the phone the victims are in Loudon County, what can tell-“ 

“Let’s not get into specifics here Bright, we’ve got the car ride to do that.” Winston shuts his line of inquiry down so quickly Malcolm just gapes his mouth open like a goldfish for a bit before falling in step with his old boss, pacing quickly to keep up with his large strides. They walk into a Starbucks and place their order, and while they are waiting Winston takes a call. 

“Carroll, where are you at with the Loudon County case? I’ve got Bright with me and we can meet you.” He waits a beat and then glances over at Bright. “Sure, we can tag along to the crime scene, pick us up from the usual in five?” 

The call ends and Winston doesn’t offer any further information so they both wait silently for their orders. Once they’ve picked up their long black (Winston’s) and caramel frappe Malcolm turns to head back to the Hoover building but is surprised to find Winston turning the opposite way. 

“Aren’t we going back to the garage for your car?” Malcolm asks.

“No, we’re going to meet Carroll at his car. He’s down the road getting lunch.” Winston’ s reply didn’t seem convincing, and a small voice in Malcolm’s mind is starting to suspect that something’s a bit off. 

“Okay, lead the way.” They walk a few hundred metres when Winston suddenly turns into an off street car park. He walks up to a nondescript black sedan with a broad man leaning against it. Malcom observes that the man’s body language is one of nerves, not what you’d usually associate with an FBI agent. His suit doesn’t quite fit is frame and the tie he’s wearing appears ill knotted, as if he wasn’t used to wearing one. The little voice whispers to Malcolm again in warning but he ignores it, trusting that his boss needs his help.

“Bright, this is Carroll. He’s been working the case and he’s gonna take us to some of the crime scenes.” Winston barks. 

“Hi, I’m really happy to be working with you. How do you want to get started?” Malcolm hopes he sounds chipper enough to cover the sense of unease he can feel growing in his gut. 

Carroll pushes off the car and opens the back door of the sedan. “Let’s talk on the way.” 

The trio climb into the car with Malcolm in the back and make their way out of the metro DC area. Malcolm had come to miss the limestone, granite and grand architecture of the nation’s capital and he enjoyed the view as they headed out into the suburbs. 

Conversation in the car is minimal, and knowing how long it would be to Loudon County Malcolm realises after thirty minutes that he’s running out of time to get caught up on the case before they get to the scene. He breaks the silence with a clearing of his throat. 

“So, Winston tells me that your case might be related to the murders I worked on in Gainesville, Georgia a few years ago. Can you tell me about the case you’re working on now? I tried to find what I could before I got here but the local PD must be keeping it under wraps.” Malcolm’s tone is light and easy. 

“It’ll be easier to tell you about it when we get there.” Carroll was vying for top spot in the gruff department against Winston. 

“O-kay.” Suddenly the car exits the highway and heads towards the signs for Reston. 

“Uh, guys, this isn’t the way to Loudon County.” Malcolm speaks up as butterflies start up in his stomach. Something is very wrong. 

“You’re right” Winston remarks, looking back at Malcolm in the rear-view mirror. “We’re headed somewhere else first.” 

“Is it related to the case?” 

Carroll interjects “You don’t need to know Malcolm, just sit tight.” 

The car is rolling to a stop at a set of lights and Malcolm’s instincts kick in. Slowly reaching for the car door he tries the handle only to find the child lock has been engaged. He’s trapped in this car with no idea where they are going and his brain is screaming danger. 

Realising his options are limited he remembers the GPS app he had downloaded the day before as a joke at the precinct. Figuring it’s his best option he opens the app, drops a pin and sends a link to Gil with the message:

 _“Winston’s case was a trap. This is where I am. He-“_

“Whatchya doing there, Bright?” Winston’s eyes are in the mirror again. 

Malcolm is quick to lie “Nothing, just checking out hotel options in DC. I didn’t book one and it looks like I’ll be staying the night.” 

Carroll snorts “You won’t be needing a hotel Malcolm. Not where we’re headed.” 

The mood in the car chills instantly, and Malcolm hurriedly hits send and locks the phone before Winston snatches it from his grasp. 

“There is no case for me to consult on, is there?” Malcolm lays his cards on the table. 

Carroll turns to the back and smiles. “Aw, you finally figured it out? Took you longer than I thought.” 

Malcolm looks at his old boss hoping to see surprise but instead is greeted by a face of impassivity. 

“Winston, what’s this about?” Malcolm asks. 

“My friend wanted a word with you, I just set the two of you up together.” Winston replies. 

The bluntness of Winston’s words stung, what had he done to deserve this? “Wait, what did I ever do to you?” 

“Besides ruin my career at the FBI? Your constant flouting of the rules ruined any chance I had of a promotion, you got me side lined over an “inability to suitably supervise subordinates.” The mocking tone belied the loathing Malcolm can see on Winston’s face. 

“I’m sorry- I had no idea.” 

And Malcolm genuinely didn’t. He knew he was reckless but had never considered that his actions might have impacted someone else. 

“Enough talking” Carroll’s getting impatient. “I’ll drop you at the Burke Centre Amtrak station Winston, Malcolm and I are taking a little trip together.” 

“Wait, Winston. Do you even know what this guy plans to do? Are you gonna leave me here with him?” Malcolm is pleading and he doesn’t even care right now. 

Winston smiles. “I don’t know, and I don’t care. You wronged him in some way and now you’re gonna pay.” 

“But I don’t even know who he is! How can I have---”

“I SAID ENOUGH!” Carroll’s moving so much the car starts to swerve on the road. 

They continue in silence for another ten minutes before the train station comes into view. Malcolm figures it’s his last chance to get out of the car so he tenses his body for a hail Mary escape. 

Carrol brings the car to a stop and nods at Winston “You got the cash?” 

Winston pulls out his phone to check. ‘Yes. We’re done here.”

“Winston, please-“ Malcolm is begging now.

There’s no reply as the door opens and the lanky frame of his former boss climbs out. Malcolm’s arms propel him through the gap in the two front seats and he manages to get a leg onto the front seat before Carroll’s thick arms wrap around him. 

“Nope, you’re staying with me.” Carroll grunts as he fights to hold Malcolm in the car.

“Get off me! WINSTON! SCOTT!” Malcolm screams after his old boss. He doesn’t look back.

Malcolm is on his own. Betrayed. 

The two men tussle before Carroll finally gives up and clocks Malcolm over the back of the head. Malcolm goes limp as the world starts to tilt and Carroll uses his advantage to push Malcolm onto the back seat. Making sure he gets the job done Carroll unclips his seatbelt and leans over to deliver another strategic blow to Malcolm’s face, aiming for a knock out. The punch does its job and Malcolm barely has time to register the blackness enveloping him before he passes out instantly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In what will come as a surprise to no-one this story has ended up a little longer than I thought. Here's the next chapter and I promise it won't be any more than three. 
> 
> Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

The first thing to come back to Malcolm is the sound of quiet rustling. Head pounding, he opens his eyes a fraction to gauge his surroundings. The room isn’t completely pitch black; there are curtains drawn against a window but not quite meeting in the middle, which allows a sliver of light into the room. A glance out the window reveals a tree swaying in the breeze, he’s not on the ground floor wherever he is. 

Opening his eyes wider he can make out a few pieces of furniture in the room, a two-seater couch and a TV buffet are all that he can see from his vantage point. The room looks lived in, domestic. A far cry from the usual crime scene he visits in his day job. 

Malcolm is in a seated position and after a quick inspection discovers he is tied to an elegant wooden chair by both ankles and wrists, the cable ties small and pulled too tight. He’s lost his vest and his sleeves have been rolled up, and a huge plastic tarp covers the grey carpet underneath. Agent Carroll was busy while Malcolm was knocked out.

If that’s even what his name is. 

Turning his head slowly Malcolm scans the room for the man who knocked him out but comes up empty. His next move is to test the chair for any sign of weakness, but the cable ties digging into his wrists are already drawing blood from the few tiny exertions he attempts. 

He is stuck. 

Left with nothing to do but wait Malcolm decides to close his eyes again and wait for Carroll to show up, dozing in and out as his concussed brain tries to reset. 

He’s not sure how long it is before a rough shove on the shoulder rouses him from his stupor. 

“Wake up Agent Bright.” Carroll spits

“What did I-“ 

Malcolm doesn’t get to finish his sentence as a knife is plunged into his thigh. Shock cuts his airways off and his mouth hangs open in a silent scream. Then the real screaming starts. It feels like an eternity before he can stop, his voice sounding hoarse from the exertion. 

He finally looks down at this leg to find the paring knife still lodged in his thigh, the slightest move sending daggers through his whole leg. He looks up at Carroll, chest heaving as he gulps in as much air as he can. 

“Well, I daresay you’re awake now. Let’s get started.” Carroll takes up a seat on the couch and stares at Malcolm intently. 

“I don’t---under---stand. Why--- am I ----- here?” Malcolm wheezes

“Your buddy Winston wasn’t wrong about this being related to the Gainesville, Georgia murders, just not in the way that you were thinking.” Carroll leans over the edge of the couch and sneers. 

“Can--- you---tell----me-----ngh?” Pain overrides Malcolm’s ability to make the sentence any longer. 

“Sure thing _Mr Profiler_. You came to Gainseville to solve a bunch of murders and what you did was destroy my family.” Carroll accuses. 

“I----did----what?” Malcolm can’t follow Carroll’s train of thought.

“You swept into the city, stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong and then I lost my brother.”

“Your---brother----was-----Darren?” The murderer. 

Carroll smiles “Ding ding ding, points for you! And you probably don’t care that he had an accident in jail and now he’s in a coma and probably isn’t gonna wake up. He wouldn’t have even been in there if it wasn’t for you!” Carroll stands up to pace in front of Malcolm, he’s getting more agitated the longer they talk. 

“I’m----sorry, but—he—killed-“ 

Another sentence doesn’t get finished as an open palm strikes Malcolm’s face, his vision whiting out. 

“THAT DOESN’T MATTER. HE’S MY BROTHER AND YOU KILLED HIM. I thought it was only fair to return the favour.” Carroll’s voice has a finality that Malcolm can sense even in his dazed state. 

Taking a beat to breathe and organise his thoughts Malcolm starts to piece together his abductor’s plan. 

“So…… you decided to-------borrow a few ideas------from your brother’s murders?” Malcolm gasps. 

That earns him another grin. “Well, you are the smart one aren’t you? His idea of finding victims through work was a good one. I merely used my clients to find a house suitable for what I needed and then recommend they have a little stay-cation while they had work done. I thought Darren would appreciate that little touch.”

“Are you gonna---- drown me like he did----his victims?” Malcolm knows a thing or two about dying and drowning is one that is really hard to get out of. 

“Hmmmm, eventually. You and I are gonna have a little fun first. See you in a bit, Profiler.” Carroll walks out of the room and all Malcolm can do is stare at the knife in his leg and hope. 

Hope that keeping the knife in will slow his blood loss long enough to survive. 

Hope that someone might have heard him screaming and will call the cops to investigate. 

Hope that Gil got his message. 

****************************************

Gil and JT step off the Metro in D.C and walk towards the exit with purpose. Gil had moved as soon as his phone got the message from Bright with a location for a town that wasn’t where he said he was going. Malcolm hadn’t responded to any calls or texts since, and Gil was worried. 

His first move was to place a quick phone call to Bright’s old supervisor to see what Bright could have meant in his message, but after twenty minutes of playing phone ping pong Scott Winston couldn’t be located. 

The team had made the decision to have Gil and JT head to DC while Dani worked the phones from the precinct. It had been a long four hours with little progress. Dani was working on the info from the tracking app and trying to get permission to trace the phone’s whereabouts. 

Gil didn’t know where else to go other than the Hoover Building so he’d spent some of the time on the train finding a contact in the Behavioural Science Unit to talk to. They walk into the lobby of the FBI building and ask to speak to Carson Hallow, and they’re only waiting a few minutes before a middle aged African American man comes to meet them. 

“Lieutenant Arroyo, I presume. What can the FBI do for the NYPD today?” Carson’s booming voice is warm and welcoming. 

“Hello Agent Hallow, thanks for meeting us. This is Detective JT Tarmel, as I said on the phone we work with Malcolm Bright.” 

“Ah yes, Agent Bright was……. unconventional. He rubbed everyone up the wrong way. You mentioned something on the phone about us asking for his help on a case but I must admit I was a little confused by your message. What did Bright tell you?”

“He said that his old supervisor Winston called him and asked him to come and help with a case in Virginia.” Gil replies

Hallow looks confused. “I checked in with our team after our call and I’ve confirmed that the Unit doesn’t have any active cases in Virginia right now.” 

“Bright said in his message that Winston had set a trap. We haven’t been able to contact Bright since he sent that message so we were hoping to talk to Winston and find out what’s going on.” 

“Well Winston’s been out for most of the afternoon, he’s just as likely to be heading home soon. Let’s go upstairs and we can have a chat, get this whole thing smoothed out.” 

“He’s here?” Gil is surprised. 

“Yeah, came back in about fifteen minutes ago.” Carson chucks a thumb over his shoulder to the bank of lifts as if to point them in the right direction. 

“Well let’s go. I want to talk to him before he leaves. Lead the way Agent Hallow” replies Gil.

The lift ride is quiet as the three men share the small space. Gil keeps his feet firmly planted on the floor and forces his body to be still while his anxious nerves are telling him to fidget. He’s trying to hide his anxiety from the FBI agent, he needs to keep his cool with Winston to find out what he knows. 

The walk to the BHU from the lift is a short one and they enter through a plate glass door to a series of cubicles. There’s wood panelling on the walls and the whole place feels dark, like someone forgot to turn a light on. 

“Winston!” Hallow calls out “You’ve got some visitors who’d like to talk to you before you go home.” 

“I’ve got what?” a voice barks from inside an office. “C’mon Hallow I was just about to-“ Winston stops dead when he sees the trio standing in the office space. “It’s 6 o’clock I was just about to head home, what do you want?”

Hallow is still relaxed, unfazed by his colleagues barking. “These gents work with Malcolm Bright and they’re concerned for his safety. They say you called him yesterday.”

Winston’s expression changes from one of annoyance to something else. Is he nervous?

“I think Malcolm misheard what I said. Sure I asked for his help but I didn’t ask for him to come here.” Winston’s words are dismissive but his face is telling Gil something else. He’s just not sure what yet. 

Bzzzzz Bzzzzzzz

Gil’s phone vibrates in his coat pocket and a quick check reveals it’s Dani calling. 

Excuse me, I’ve gotta take this.” Gil heads back out to the hallway while JT and Hallow are chatting to Winston. 

“Powell, what have you got?” 

“Gil, I just got a rush on Bright’s phone location and it’s saying that the phone is currently inside the FBI.” The words tumble out of Dani’s mouth in a rush.

“What do you mean?” Gil can’t believe it. 

“I got the geolocation of the phone from when Malcolm pinged you. It travels to a place called Reston before it follows a straight line back to DC. Its current location is 935 Pennsylvania Avenue.” That’s the address for the Hoover Building. 

“Winston’s telling us he never asked for Bright’s help and I’m damned sure he’s not telling us the truth.” Gil has a thought. “I’ve got an idea, I gotta go.” Ending the call Gil throws open the door to Winston trying to walk his way past JT who’s doing his best impression of a wall. He ain’t budging. 

“C’mon Hallow I answered this guy’s questions, I don’t know where Bright is. I’m leaving.” Winston barks. 

Hallow appears to agree “Look he says he doesn’t know where he is and Bright was always a little flaky. He’ll probably show up in New York tomorrow.”

“You don’t know Bright, this isn’t like him.” JT protests. As the three men squabble Gil pulls up Bright’s mobile number and connects the call. He waits a few seconds before it starts to ring and Gil pulls the phone away from his ear, listening. 

Bzzzzz Bzzzzzzz

Winston stops talking and Gil watches as his eyes go wide. His pocket keeps buzzing, the sound getting louder as JT and Hallow stop to listen too, not quite following. 

“You stupid bastard. Where is he?” Gil’s fury is rising fast. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” Winston’s going to try bluffing his way out. 

“Don’t lie. That’s Bright’s phone. We tracked it here. Care to tell me why you have my missing team member’s cell in your pocket?” 

Winston looks flustered “I, uh, I-“

JT cuts in “Yeah, let’s just stop with whatever lie you were gonna come up with and go with the truth.” 

Realising he’s caught Winston pulls the phone out and hands it to Gil. 

“I left him with someone in Reston. I don’t know where they went.” 

“We’re gonna need more than that.” Gil prompts.

“The guy was driving a black Chevy sedan, he dropped me off at Burke Central at 4pm. I don’t know anything else.” 

Hallow can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Winston, do you have something to do with this?”

Winston sounds tired as he replies “Not really. Are we done here?” 

“You gotta be kidding. You’re gonna help us find Bright.” demands Gil

“I’m not gonna help you with anything. That kid ruined my career.” Winston sneered.

“Well if you’re carrying around a victim’s phone in your coat after doing a crime Bright may not have been the only factor there.” JT mutters. 

“Okay, lets head down to my office and we’ll see what we can do to find Bright.” At least Hallow wants to help. 

“So help me Winston if something happens to him—” Gil threatens

“He’ll have deserved it.”

**************************************** 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but Malcolm guesses it’s been a few hours since Carroll had left him playing human pin cushion. He had given up hope on police charging the door, if anyone had heard his screams from earlier he would have been rescued already. 

The blood oozing from his leg has almost stopped entirely as the knife acts as a plug for the stab wound. Every tiny movement he makes sends a shock up his leg and the sight of his blood pooling on the plastic tarp on the floor is making him nauseous. At some point Malcolm decides it’s just easier to keep his eyes shut against the world, passing in and out of consciousness. 

Occasionally Malcolm opens his eyes to check whether the sun is still in the sky, and eventually the light starts to fade making way for night. Staring out the window to distract from the pain radiating throughout his body Malcolm admires the pinks, reds and purples from the sliver of sky he can see out of the curtain. The light hasn’t faded entirely when there’s a sound coming from the stairs. Carroll is coming. 

“Well Agent Bright, I must say you’ve been very well behaved. I’ve barely heard a peep from you since I left!” cheers Carroll. 

“Why bother? Nobody came to the rescue.” breathes Malcolm. 

Carroll cocks his head “Aw, that’s not true. I had a lovely police officer stop by a couple of hours ago to check it out, lucky for him he believed that I’d been watching a movie with the volume up. He didn’t really wanna find anything, the dumbass.” 

Malcolm looks up in disbelief. He hadn’t heard the anything like the front door opening or a conversation coming from downstairs, he must have been unconscious. 

“Now, we really should get back to the schedule Agent Bright.” Carroll picks up a nail gun and walks towards his captive. 

“Sure, why not” Malcolm wheezes; “I am a very good screamer, someone might hear me again.” 

“I admire your optimism Agent Bright, but if anyone does hear you you won’t be alive long enough for it to matter.” Carroll looks Malcolm’s body up and down. “Now, we’ve got a pretty piercing in one leg, shall we make it a matching set?” Carroll pushes the nail gun into the muscle of Malcolm’s uninjured thigh and stares into Malcolm’s eyes, a grin starting to spread across his face. 

“No, please, don’t.” pants Malcolm, unable to think of anything more to say. The darkness he’s seen in Carroll’s eyes tells him all he needs to know; he’s enjoying this. There’s no point in pleading with someone who wants to hurt you. 

“Yes, I think we will.” Carrol pulls the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story isn't beta'd so any mistakes are my own. 
> 
> If you would like to hang out with some awesome artists please join me on the [Prodigal Whump](https://discord.gg/g4kTka) and [PSon Trash](https://discord.gg/wZ4QQr) (18+) servers on Discord!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day I will learn to write small fics, alas today is not that day.

**7:30pm MALCOLM**

_Pssssht!_

Malcom hears rather than sees the nail shoot into his thigh due to his eyes being shut tight. He braces for the pain that he knows is coming and seconds later the pain signals start rolling in. It starts as a sharp sting before turning into a white hot fire that seems to cut through his entire leg. It feels like the nail must have gone all the way through to the chair, even though the nail wasn’t long enough to do so. The fire settles around the nail and starts to spread outwards towards his knee and glutes. Gasping against the pain he dares to open his eyes and check for blood loss. It’s surprisingly minimal. 

Carroll seems dissatisfied with Malcolm’s level of distress. “I have to admit I expected more noise from you. I’ll need to rectify that somehow……” Hefting the hail gun upright Carroll walks around Malcolm’s bound body and presses it into his skin in several places, tossing up where the next nail will go. 

“Now, I have to be careful as I don’t want to accidentally nail you to the chair. Don’t need to make it hard on myself when we move this little party to the bath now, do I?” taunts Carroll.

“I-----don’t think-------I need any------more thanks.” gasps Malcolm.

“What you think you need is irrelevant Agent. I think I might try and see if one of these puppies will break a bone. What do you think?” Carroll asks hypothetically. 

“No.” 

Carroll’s eyes gleam, his pupils dilated as he takes pleasure in Malcolm’s pain “I’m glad you agree.” 

There’s no time to prepare as the nail gun is jammed against Malcolm’s right bicep and the trigger is pulled swiftly. The crack of his humerus shattering seems much louder than it should be, though it could just be the roaring in his ears amplifying the sound. The hoarse scream that rents out of his throat doesn’t seem to capture the agony he feels.The bone shards sticking into muscle combined with the fire from the nail’s arrival make him want to pass out again. A fresh gasp of air increases the volume to a level that Carroll seems satisfied with. He grabs Malcolm’s shattered arm roughly and checks that the nail didn’t pierce through to the chair, ignoring the sobs emanating from his captive. 

“Good, good. Let’s make this one a matching set too, shall we?” 

Rendered speechless from the fire raging in his limbs all Malcolm can do is stare up at his captor and heave as much oxygen into his lungs as possible. Carroll walks behind Malcolm to shoot the other arm but before he can hold the arm still there’s a loud bang and a thud from the floor below. 

****************************

**7:20pm - GIL**

Gil’s not sure how much nerve he has left. 

Winston had told them nothing further about his connection to the man who had taken Bright, and they had been forced to rely on technology to find him. Luckily for them Agent Hallow had graciously offered them access to the FBI’s tech resources, which required less hoop jumping to access local camera feeds than what Gil would have had at the NYPD. 

The GPS profile lifted from Bright’s phone had allowed them to ID the black Chevy Malcolm had been transported in, once they’d matched up the time Winston was at the station with the Amtrak CCTV footage. A BOLO had gone out to all local PD patrols, and a local patrol had spotted the car in the driveway of a suburban home twenty minutes away from the train station. Hallow had loaned a car to Gil and JT to travel to the home so they could be there when the FBI’s tactical team breached the home. 

The properties on this street were spacious and grand in architecture surrounded by manicured lawns and mature trees. The house in question was a two-storey concrete rendered 1990’s build, with the house set towards the front of the block. There were signs of renovations being undertaken with a pile of lumber and gyprock stacked neatly to the left of the front door, from all appearances there didn’t seem to be anything out of place at the address. 

The team from New York had been parked a few houses down for about ten minutes, but as the sky darkens as the sun starts to set Gil finds himself getting more and more agitated. “We need to be in there, JT” he complains, his leg bouncing up and down from nerves. 

JT gives him a look that’s saying he should know better. “Hallow made it clear that we had to stay back and let the tactical team do their job. If he’s in there we can be right behind them once they’ve cleared the scene.” 

Gil pushes his point. “I know what Hallow said, but we do this all day back home, we should be able to rescue Bright right now!” 

“Look man, I’m upset about Bright too but you know how jurisdictions work. We have to let them do their jobs. You know that.” JT pleads.

Gil sighs. His head knows that, and yet his heart is telling him to charge the front door of the house right now and go and find their boy. Jessica would never forgive him if something happened to Malcolm after the last year, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself either. 

“Alright, alright. I won’t rush the door, I promise.” Gil agrees. “But I think we can probably get a bit closer to the team to find out what’s happening, don’t you?” 

JT looks up at the tactical team preparing to intrude into the house and reluctantly agrees that Gil is right. The car wasn’t equipped with any radios or comms gear so they had no means of finding out if and when they were going to enter the property. “Okay, I think we can walk up to the command post and ask to stand behind them. C’mon.” 

JT steps out of the car and Gil is right behind him. The men walk with purpose to the command vehicle parked at the house next to the one they are observing and flash their badges before anyone can object to their presence. 

“Excuse me, I’m Lieutenant Arroyo and this is Detective Tarmel with the NYPD. We work with the missing person and were wondering if we could find out what’s going on?” 

The tactical commander who looks about six foot, with a brown buzz cut is dressed in full assault gear and doesn’t have a name on the front of his vest. He looks up from a screen to survey the men, cool grey eyes sweep over Gil and JT and their displayed badges. Seemingly satisfied with their credentials he starts to relay the latest. “We’re getting ready to breach the house. The local PD says there was a complaint logged for the address this afternoon relating to someone screaming. Report says the officer visited the location and found a single occupant claiming to be watching a horror film. There was no entry to the premises and no further noise was heard from the house to the officer returned to his shift. We’ve got a description of the guy that answered the door that matches the build of the person we suspect rented the car so we’re reasonably certain we’ve got the right house.” 

“Are you going to breach the door before you lose the light?” JT asks. 

“We’ve got officers in place ready to go, but we’re going to wait until we can get a bit of intel on the home before we head in.” The commander turns his attention back to the screen which has grainy vision of the sides of the house displayed on it. 

Gil presses his luck and asks another question. “Wouldn’t it be better if you went in while it’s still light?”

The commander looks like he’s not in the mood for questions about his professional choices. “We’d prefer to have a bit more intel on the house before we barge in Lieutenant Arroyo.” 

“Don’t you think you-“ 

Gil’s next question dies on his tongue as a scream punctures the air from the live feed streaming through the TV screen. It sounds hoarse but he would recognise that voice anywhere. 

“That’s Bright! That’s Malcolm, he’s in there!” Gil shouts. 

The commander is not pleased at this latest turn of events. “Damnit, I wanted more intel before we breached the door.” 

“C’mon man, you can hear that scream and you know that ain’t no horror movie.” JT argues. 

The commander thinks it over for a few seconds before grabbing a mic attached to his vest and giving the command

“Breach the door, I repeat, breach the door.” 

There’s a bit of static before the reply comes through. “Roger that, the scream sounded like it came from the first floor so we’ll head up there first. Team ready in three, two, one…” 

Two men hurl a battering ram towards the front door and it caves in effortlessly. They’re in. 

Now all Gil has to do is hope that they get to Bright in time. 

****************************

**7:35pm CARROLL**

Carroll freezes for a moment before he ducks his head out of the room and into the doorway to see what caused the noise, knowing that the only possible cause could have been the police. He can see three armed men stomping up the stairs and he knows he hasn’t got time to finish the agent like he had planned. His brother would be disappointed in him for not killing the guy sooner, he was sure of that. 

Carroll doesn’t have time to do the math on how much time he’s got but he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to finish the pair of nails in the agent’s arm. He needs the symmetry to be complete. Get the arm finished and then straight to the head, it’s his best shot at finishing the job he started for Darren. 

Turning back to his captive he grabs his uninjured left arm and pushes the nail gun into the soft flesh. The shouting from downstairs has renewed Agent Bright’s spirit and he twists and turns as much as the cable ties will allow. 

“Help--------help--------up here” Agent Bright still thinks he can get out of this. He’s mistaken. 

“Hold still or this’ll hurt-“ Carroll can’t quite line up the gun as well as the first time and running out of options he doesn’t wait before he pulls the trigger. 

_Pssssht!_

The nail misses the bone this time but it’s struck closer to the edge of the agent’s arm and the end of the nail has embedded itself in the back of the chair. Not having time to see the look on Bright’s face Carroll lifts the nail gun up to the back of his captive’s head, the weight causing him to take longer to aim than he was expecting. 

“PUT THE WEAPON DOWN!!!!!!” A voice yells behind him. He ignores it, he needs to finish this for Darren. Taking a steadying breath, he rests the nail gun onto the agent’s head and relishes the sob coming out of the agent. 

He moves his finger towards the trigger but there’s an impact in his back and he drops to the floor before he can squeeze it one last time. 

****************************

**7:35pm MALCOLM**

Pain. All Malcolm can feel is pain. Straining against Carroll to avoid the nail gun has sent splinters of white-hot agony through the leg with the knife sticking out of it. If he had a hand free he’d take his chances and pull it out just to turn it into a different sensation. The shards of bone in his arm are grinding against the nail lodged into it, grinding that he can somehow feel in his skull. The radius of the dual fires emanating from the nails embedded in his left side are starting to meet in the middle of his chest, making it hard to breathe. 

Pain means he’s alive though. Somehow, he’s still breathing. Still here. 

He’s not sure what happened to Carroll. He remembers hearing a bang from downstairs and a tiny voice in his head telling him that help had finally arrived. An instinct to survive kicked in so he decided to fight against the next nail but he failed to stop it from piercing his skin. Now his left arm is raised awkwardly and try as he might he can’t lower his shoulder. He can’t quite figure out why his arm is stuck that way, and a part of him doesn’t want to know. 

Movement in his peripheral vision triggers an adrenaline spike and he jerks in the chair before he can stop himself. He remains pinned in the chair but the attempt to get away sends an agonising jolt of fire throughout his body in protest and darkness takes him again. 

****************************

**7:35pm GIL**

“PUT THE WEAPON DOWN!!!!!” 

Gil hears the command clearly through the screen and his stomach drops. The grainy images from the tactical team reveals a tall broad man aiming some sort of gun towards the back of Malcolm’s head while he’s sitting on a chair. The man’s arm wobbles but he doesn’t lower the weapon. There’s no further warning before the team shoots the man with rubber bullets and he drops to the floor. The camera bobs up and down around as the agent walks around the chair to check on the Malcolm, who flinches when he’s halfway around and they watch him pass out. There’s blood everywhere, and what looks like the hilt of a knife lodged in one of his thighs. 

The agent’s microphone activates and sends through a short message. “Suspect is down, get a bus here ASAP. This guy’s hurt bad.” 

Gil doesn’t wait for permission to enter the house, and he’s running for the entrance before anyone can stop him. 

He bounds up the stairs past the agents and catches himself on the doorframe to slow his momentum. What he sees makes his stomach contents threaten to come up. Bright’s injuries look a hundred times worse in the flesh. There’s a pool of blood under one leg, twin rings of blood around each cable tied wrist and his left arm has been nailed into the chair he’s sitting in. He’s passed out leaning to the right so his body is slumped in the chair at an unnatural angle. 

The tactical team has arrested Agent Carroll and dragged him over to the back corner of the room. Laying on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back, he watches Gil with dark eyes as he enters the room. He lifts his head and says with a smirk

“My brother sends his regards to Agent Bright.”

Gil files that comment away for later not having a clue what the man means. For now, the only thing that matters is checking on Bright. Walking around to his front Gil sees the other nails and the knife they’d seen in the grainy raid video. In that moment his heart shatters into a thousand pieces as he’s faced with the reality that his city boy has been hurt – no – _tortured_ and he couldn’t put the pieces together in time to stop it from happening. Gil had failed Malcolm again and he would carry the scars of his mistake forever. 

“Kid. Oh my god.” Gil’s voice cracks. Gil would have taken all the pain for him in a second if only to take away the tableau that laid before him. 

He bends down so he’s looking up at Bright and holds his hand to Bright’s cheek, cupping his face while he sleeps. They stay that way for a minute, Gil tuning out the bustling around him knowing that nobody will try and move Bright until they can find a way to extract him from the chair, and the knife from him safely. He’d failed his kid again, and he hadn’t even been trying to get into trouble this time. He won’t leave the kid alone again, not until they get him back home. 

Gil snaps out of it when he hears a familiar voice “Hah, man.” JT hovers in the doorway and looks to Gil for guidance. 

“Call Dani, tell her we’ve got him but he’s hurt. Don’t tell her how bad it is, okay?” 

“Alright, boss. Do we know who the guy is yet?” JT looks over at the suspect on the floor to look for clues as to why anyone would inflict this kind of pain on someone. 

Gil shakes his head “Not a clue. It’s not important right this second though. Call Dani.”

“What about his mom?” JT hopes he won’t be the one to make that call. 

“Leave Jessica to me. I’ll call her once we know what we’re dealing with.” 

The mention of Jessica stirs a reaction from Bright and he leans into Gil’s hand while his face pinches in pain. 

“Mmmmmmm” is all he gets out 

“Shhhh……. We found you, Malcolm. It’s okay. Shhh……” Gil repeats this until Bright’s face relaxes once again. 

Gil stays with Malcolm for the fifteen minutes it takes for the bus to arrive, at which point the FBI team has figured out how they will get Malcolm out of the chair. They’ve kept the cable ties on his arms up until this point as it helped to minimise his movements, but they need to get him to hospital as soon as possible. 

Gil stays with him, unmoving around the bustle of people as the EMT’s set up. 

“No sedatives, just pain relief if you’re gonna give him anything. He’s got a history.” 

The EMTs accept this without much convincing and set to administer some pain relief to dull the pain for when they start to move him. Gil notices the looks between the man and woman as they make their assessment of Bright’s injuries, and can see there’s something they’re not sharing. 

“What is it?” Gil asks. 

The female EMT replies in a calm voice practiced in difficult conversations. “Malcolm has lost a lot of blood here and we’re worried when we move him, he could lose even more. We might have to do a blood transfusion here before we cut him out.” 

“How long with that take?” Gil can see Malcolm’s breathing getting faster, a sign that he won’t be unconscious for much longer. 

The EMT grimaces “Maybe a couple of hours.”

“Absolutely not.” Gil spits. His desire to protect Malcolm overpowers any attempt at civil conversation. “There’s no way he’s staying in this chair for another two hours. Can’t you start it on the way to the hospital?” 

“We’d prefer to do it in the one place, sir.” 

Malcolm’s breathing kicks into high gear and his head lifts slightly as he comes to. He tries to move his body, but any movement elicits a moan of pain and Gill does his best to still his limbs before he does any more damage. 

“Hey city boy, it’s me. I need to you to be real still and we’ll get you outta here soon, okay?” Gil murmurs softly. 

Malcolm seems to notice Gil for the first time. 

“Gil? Hurts…” is all he can manage. A little part of him is relieved to hear his voice again, however weak it sounds. 

“I know kid, you’ve been so brave. I need you to hold on just a little bit longer, alright?” 

The EMT kneels down to meet Malcolm’s eyeline. 

“Mr Bright, you’ve lost a lot of blood and we would like to do a transfusion before we move you. It would take two hours so we need you to stay very still for a little while longer, can you do that?”

Malcolm whimpers and starts to fight against the cable ties out of instinct, deepening the cuts on his wrists with each twist. Gil can’t stand to see his boy restrained any longer, Malcolm’s whines of discomfort is jarring in his head and heart like nails against a chalk board. 

“Can we cut these off please?”

“Gil……..help……….uh” Malcolm gasps as he tries to move too quickly. 

Gil knows he’s not going to wait for a transfusion, and he can’t really blame him either. 

****************************

**7:37pm MALCOLM**

Time isn’t something he can keep track of right now, yet it feels like seconds from when he lost consciousness before snippets of sounds bleed through the darkness. Sounds telling Malcolm to wake up. He can hear the rumblings of different voices he doesn’t recognise and decides that he’ll stay where he is for now, the darkness preferable to the reality that will await him if he opens his eyes. 

The pain is still there, the burning in his arms and legs getting more intense. He feels like he needs to move. As his tired mind tries to remember how to move a voice he _does_ recognise finds its way into his brain. 

“Kid. Oh my god.”

A soft hand rests on his face and it’s a small comfort. It distracts from the burning in his limbs and he can stay for a minute. More voices are talking and then he hears his mother’s name. 

Mother. She’ll be worried. He should call her. 

Try as be might his eyelids won’t open; they may as well be made from concrete. But it’s okay for the moment. 

Gil’s there, holding him. He’s safe. He can drift away for a while. 

*  
When the sounds come back again Gil’s voice is getting louder, telling someone that he can’t stay here for hours. At the mention of the word ‘hours’ a basic instinct fights against the word, what it will mean for him and finds his body attempting to get away. The pain isn’t as bad as it was before but the dull resistance is still there, trapping him in place. 

The slight surge in adrenaline gives him the boost he needs to open his eyes and find Gil. Malcolm doesn’t have to look far, he’s right in front of him. 

“Gil? Hurts…”

A face he doesn’t recognise starts talking but his ears feel like they have cotton in them, he doesn’t understand what they’re saying. He does hear the word ‘hours’ again and a surge of adrenaline kicks in harder this time. Limbs straining against their ties and the dull resistance increases. 

“Gil……..help……….uh”

There’s more arguing and finally the pressure on his right arm is released. Relieved at the freedom Malcolm raises it, forgetting the shattered bone inside it. 

He’s out in seconds. 

*

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

The rhythmic beeping is a sound that he’s familiar with, his memory supplying images of comfort and boredom from previous stays in hospitals. 

He’s not in the house anymore. It’s safe to open his eyes. 

A quick test of his arms and legs finds his right arm held close to his chest in a sling, his left arm has a thick bandage covering his bicep and two large bandages cover each of his thighs. His limbs feel heavier than usual because of all the coverings, but it could have been worse. He got lucky that Darren’s brother hadn’t had enough time to carry out his plan any further. 

“Hello?” Malcolm croaks 

There’s no reply. There are no other beds in the room, and he can’t see anyone out of the square shaped window cut out of the door. He’s alone. 

He could have sworn Gil was with him at the house. 

Resigned to having to get his own help and find out when he can go home, he surveys the drab hospital room and comes across a bed controller with a call button on the right-hand side of the bed. The side that his arm is currently trapped in a sling. Breathing deep into his lungs and tensing up, Malcolm prepares to roll his body to reach the device. He gets halfway over before the door opens and finds JT walking through with a coffee. 

“Miami Vice, what’s up?” JT’s grinning and turns back to the hall. “He’s awake.”

JT walks in and Gil is right behind him. 

“Kid, how are you?” Gil looks tired and drawn. 

“I feel like it’s gonna hurt to move for a while. I’m sorry Gil.” Malcolm looks down for something to stare at, something that won’t be the look of disappointment on Gil’s face. He braces himself for the lecture he can no doubt imagine is coming.

“Sorry for what, kid?” says a perplexed Gil. 

“I’m sorry I went missing again. I swear I didn’t know that this was going to happen. I couldn’t have known Winston would hand me over to a murderer’s brother-” The words are tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

“We know, Bright.” JT cuts him off. 

Malcolm is surprised. It’s usually always his fault for getting hurt. 

JT continues “Winston didn’t give us anything once we’d found your phone on him and the FBI only got an ID on Jeffrey Clayton until his fingerprints came up in the system an hour ago. It didn’t take them long to connect the name with the Gainesville case Winston mentioned in his call to you yesterday.” 

“Oh. That’s good. I just don’t understand how Clayton found Winston and convinced him to set me up like this. I didn’t think I was that bad.” 

“Oh, you have your moments, kid” snorts Gil. “But there’s nothing that you’ve done that could justify this. We don’t know how they met up yet, here’s hoping the investigators can figure it out soon. You just rest up so we can get you home” 

“Home, yeah, sounds nice.” 

Since his return to New York Malcolm had been wondering where home really was in his heart. He had loved his work at the FBI, and the sting of being fired and forced to leave had left him wondering if he could feel the same sense of belonging anywhere else. 

Looking at Gil and JT he realised that he had found it at the NYPD. Despite the constant drama with his parents he knew that a work family that accepts him as he is was a rare find. He wanted to get back to it. 

Just as soon as someone points him in the direction of some clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming on this journey with me in my first prompt fic, the first of what I hope is many to come! Thanks again to the lovely Procrastinating Sab for the great idea. 
> 
> If you would like to hang out with some awesome artists please join me on the [Prodigal Whump](https://discord.gg/g4kTka) and [PSon Trash](https://discord.gg/wZ4QQr) (18+) servers on Discord!

**Author's Note:**

> The song is Shut up and Dance With Me by Walk the Moon, a great summer jam. 
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd any mistakes are my own. 
> 
> The next chapter will bring the whump. Join me on the PSon Trash and Whump Servers!


End file.
